


All That Lay Between Us

by LadyPoly



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kink, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Master/Slave, Multi, Oral Sex, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 03:51:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8312968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyPoly/pseuds/LadyPoly
Summary: Despite how any of them feel they now needed to fit into a world that no longer needed the Gundams--and no longer needed them. Their lives eventually trickle down, all of them finding a place in the Preventer's one by one on their own terms. Trowa however avoids it for as long as possible, hiding away in a simple life within the circus walls. Simple had given him the time to heal, to discover himself. The only problem was her-- always Lady Une.  There were some things during the war and after that just never went away and now after nearly three years Trowa finds himself accepting her offer when she suddenly contacts him out of the blue with a job proposal. Leaving everything behind Trowa starts over--headed towards his friends and tries to forget about his mistakes, regrets and feelings between the sheets with one long haired beautiful brown eyed woman. As they come together though the people they were crave for their past encounters and Trowa finds his working relationship has suddenly gotten complicated and quickly.  The problem with Love; is that it was a war Trowa had no idea how to fight. He settles into a life he never thought he'd have as he learns what happiness truly is--even with a few bumps in the road.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Dearest Readers,
> 
> It would appear that not only were several of my works copied and posted as someone else’s and that a few people I trusted have also stolen ideas, images created and scenes.
> 
> Should you compare my stories to something I have not said was inspired by a prompt, or that someone has stolen, in the comments of the story please share it with the link, or the place it was and the writer's name or username. I will do what I can to contact them on my own if I need to. Please do not engage them yourselves. If I need help, I will sound the bat signal ;)
> 
> While I have dealt with the people involved the best I can, with the help of loyal reader’s and friends, I have to ask that you please keep this in mind. In the last several weeks it has become very clear to me that the majority of fanfic writers don't understand plagiarism. Stealing ideas without crediting, borrowing quotes, etc and claiming it as your own-- plagiarism. A form of fraud. You cannot take something blow for blow, change the setting and claim that either. An homage is also not done this way, and if you believe so-- it’s still a form of plagiarism.
> 
> When you cite the fandom, the characters etc, you show that you have given credit for the idea. What the writer does next if not stating a prompt and it’s source is their own. The canon ideas are given credit, the divergent is their own.
> 
> Now sometimes similarities inspired by scenes happen, but there is no reason why a comparison of the two should be clear. There is no reason for one writer’s voice to still be evident if you were inspired by their story while claiming your own idea.
> 
> I want to say this didn’t anger me, or hurt me but it did. It infuriated me and to be honest, I didn’t know if I should continue.
> 
> If I am slower to post things now, it is only due to feeling unsure. I am very sorry.
> 
> All my love,  
> LadyPoly

 

**Brussels Airport.**

 

Trowa had never been so relieved to see the sign with large white writing that said “Welcome to Europe” in all his years of moving around with the circus or attending events for Quatre and one rather popular, former Relena Peacecraft. 

 

As he stretched a second time, Trowa tried to crack his back again to relieve some of the stiffness and aches from being on flights for what had seemed like the last 24 hours since he left L3.  He had slept on the flight from New York to London before a short layover. It had been such a mess of travel--it made him long for the chance to drive again or the convenience of Wing Zero for the brief time he had the chance to use such transportation. 

 

At the baggage carousel, Trowa leaned up against a pillar and took in the large glass windows and the buzz of his surroundings. He watched the crowd of people, their coming and going or the shuffling along from one destination to the other, through the dark shade of his aviators. The clouds outside looked like it had already rained earlier in the morning, teasing wisps of sunlight through the cover they’re providing the Capital Region. 

 

He rolled his shoulders against the corner of the structure where he was leaned and tried to scratch the itch that danced along his spine through the leather jacket he wore. His carry on bag was small, thankfully, he still traveled light. It was a habit he still hadn’t kicked, he supposed, always only ever a few possessions and belongings inside. The latino had taped them up, knowing Catherine would ship them when he settled somewhere. No sense in taking more than he needed to. 

 

He paused, still amazed that he’s here, after all this time. Trowa could admit that he had spent a long time away as he usually avoided anything that had to do with the Preventers, until now, that is. He had tried to stay under the radar, to slip into a simple life that most people would never think would suit him. The truth was, though, he loved it. He loved the rush when the crowds would gasp at his tricks and tumbles, the sound of the lions that purred beneath his fingers when he tended and cared for the majestic creatures. Trowa didn’t even mind the hose down the elephants would always give him as his shirt would be discarded so he could finish soaping up the large pachyderms. Their bonds were easy, no guilt formed from his actions, nothing to tie him down in ways that terrified him. 

 

Simple had given him the time to heal, to discover himself. He had bonded with Catherine and it wasn’t odd anymore to fall in love with television shows they both enjoyed a few times a week or the smell of her cooking when they tried new things. He enjoyed cooking, he discovered, baking and caring for a space that was his, untainted by a life he hadn’t been given a choice in. He even took up knitting as he watched his sister, made scarves and mittens, things he’d send for Christmas to the people he was so far away from and missing. 

 

Sure, it got a little lonelier than he wanted to admit, not being surrounded by his friends sometimes--but when the sting got to be too much to feel someone again, to feel a different kind of high only being a pilot could provide...--there was always someone in a pinch. It didn’t bother him, not in the slightest. He liked it rougher and men had always made his brain blank--gave him a rush when his shoulders were pressed against the trailer wall or the alley ways or play rooms in certain clubs. He learned to curb the urge for war and blood that had been ingrained in him for other things, curbed them to be something people wanted as he barked orders, gave demands and filled them. It hadn’t stopped there, though, he had found an outlet for guilt as well. The feeling of cold chains on his skin, the snap of the leather as it bit into him, the feel of someone that nuzzled him as they said “Yes, sir,” or he begged them when they asked. It was like two sides of a coin. Trowa Barton and The Silencer, both equal now and both being given a way to cope.

 

He sighed. He never would have gotten the idea to even try such a thing at all if it hadn’t been for  _ her,  _ those coffee brown eyes and that sharp snap to her voice when she first looked at him without fear and said “On your knees”.  The woman had been no fool as he donned that uniform, she had seen him for who he was and rather than kill him like most would have on the spot, she had toyed with him like a cat with a mouse. He always knew who was in charge back then and it never stopped him from always giving in, too fascinated and too weak to say no.

 

She had planted a seed, had seen inside of him and ripped him wide open in passing moments--from the station when he was with Oz, drunk while he attended one of the Winner Family Charity Balls, masks and ball gowns. Some things were more fun when a mask could make you someone new. There was the one night she had shown up suddenly, out of nowhere, and slammed him into the trailer wall where they usually changed. He’d never thought of ropes till she dragged them along the underside of his neck--and pulled.

 

He frowned as he thought about their last meeting almost over a year ago. It had been different, both sober, no adrenaline or chaos. They sunk into one another, hearts pounding and bodies exhausted as sweat clung to them. It hadn’t been love making but it wasn’t primal or feral either. She had asked him to stay--just the one time, as they lay wrapped in one another’s arms. He had promised to be there when she woke, but the other part of him stirred, uncomfortable and unsure.

 

He had slipped away before dawn and left nothing but the note.  He wasn’t surprised when her contract never came in the form of anything but business as she tried to recruit him like she had the others. He had tried so hard to stay away and yet--here he was, and a part of him didn’t know if it was honestly for the job or because he wanted her again. He worried how she’d look at him now, if he had even hurt her or if she hadn’t cared--and he didn’t know why the idea made him unsettled.

 

“Too late to change your mind now, Barton,” he muttered softly and slipped the shades back up the front of his nose. He grabbed the wheeled suitcase when he spotted the red and orange bag tags that reminded him of Heavyarms colors. Trowa headed towards the exit doors to hail a cab and boot up his phone that Une had mailed a week previous. He input the numbers she provided and held it to his ear as he rubbed a dark black sneaker against the back of his dark stone wash jeans. 

 

A woman answered on the third ring, “Preventer HQ, this line is secure and private. Your authorization number is approved from an issued line, how may I direct your call, please?” 

 

He surveyed the area around him and squinted. The in’s and out’s of their security would make him irritated, he could feel it already. 

 

“Col-Commander Une, please.” He could hear her nails on the keyboard and imagined a young blonde as the swivel of her chair echoed through the receiver, her accent heavy and French.

 

“May I ask who’s calling?” Her tone was polite--almost forced. He supposed talking to people every few minutes of the day would make him sound the same way.

 

“Tell her 03 is on his way to see her. I shouldn’t be more than half an hour.” He hoped so anyways as he eyed the traffic around them. It wasn't all unpleasant though as he took in the view around him. Parts of the area were quite beautiful from where he was already, he imagined the central part would be a sight to see. 

 

The keys strike again, her manicured nails tapping. He can hear the monitor beep, “Will do, Preventer Leo.” 

 

Trowa pulled the phone away from his ear and blinked at it. Had he heard that right?

 

_ Am I that tired? _

 

“Pardon, did you say Leo?”

 

“Your codename is Leo, Mr. Barton, as in Leo the Lion. Please remember that from now on. Should you have any complaints, please seek Preventer Shinigami upon arrival.” 

 

_ Shinigami. That braided bastard! _

 

The weary former pilot of Heavyarms sighed heavily. That one would take some time to adjust to when he had to say it out loud. At least it wasn’t too terribly cheesy. 

 

Trowa slipped the phone back into the front of his jeans and hailed the first cab he saw and told them where he needed to go.  He made a note to switch more currency over when he could and took in the scenery through the window of the back seat that didn’t quite give him a lot of room to stretch his legs. 

 

He tapped his fingers against his thigh as they approached the block that the maps he looked up said the office was on. He stepped out of the cab after he paid and retrieved his bag and thanked the man in French before he approached a coffee shop a little ways away. He ordered the largest cup they had and added an espresso shot to give him a jolt as he took the first sip with closed eyes. It warmed his chest and hit the pit of his stomach harshly, but it was worth it. It was nearly half gone as he rounded the corner to his destination, the bag wheels clicked along the sidewalk as he considered the structures over his sunglasses. Brussels was beautiful--perhaps he was wise not to stay away.

 

***********

 

In her office above the street, eyes scanned the people and the city buzzing below her--Lady Cordelia Une stood poised and chewed her lip briefly. It had been a shock that Trowa Barton had accepted her last contract, the fact that he had managed to show up and follow through--that was even more so. It punched the air from her lungs and twisted her gut in a knot. 

 

She didn’t want to feel this way, of course, but the desire that pooled in her abdomen as she tried to imagine what three years had done to him, was hard to avoid. She’d had her string of partners, her lovers on the weekends when she hated to be alone any longer and she was sick of being disappointed that another one of Noin’s ‘matches’ was a total dud. The fact that he’d come, that he was about to set foot inside her world again once he walked through that door, shook her to the core of her foundations. She hadn’t meant for their one night in that hotel room suite to matter--how she’d been too weak and felt better than she had in so many years to cloud her judgement as she asked for what she knew would spook him. 

 

She had no claim over him--she had no right to ask for them to try and be something they both knew they needed. It was sex, sweat and bruises, all well earned and cherished but nothing more. She had been stupid to think he was capable of anything but. Sighing, Lady Une swallowed the last of her cold coffee and straightened her coat. She was a soldier as well. If war didn’t scare her, then neither should this. 

 

She caught a glimpse of him down in the street, though, and all of her reserves deflated. Dipped in leather as he looked up to scan the building, her mouth went dry. Jeans and a t-shirt with aviators to frame his face, hair still bold, different and spiked outwards. He was older, broader, it looked like. Une leaned against the glass.

 

Lord help her as the heat burned hotter than before inside of her to be against him again.

 

***********

 

A woman in a security uniform opened the door as he approached and offered him a smile that he did his best to return--it still wasn’t something he was used to. He fished out the key card Une had also provided in her items and pinched it between his fingers as he walked up to the large desk in the front of the lobby. Several men turned to look at him, a few of them recognized him--or perhaps thought he looked familiar, he wasn’t sure. He nodded politely when they greeted him, bid them hello when they swiped his card. He didn't miss the guns on their waists or the one younger looking one whose hand already hovered when the card swiped. The older gentlemen with brown eyes and dark hair had a thick accent as he spoke in something Trowa assumed was Dutch as he pointed at the screen. There was a twitch to Trowa’s hand, a reflex, when he took a step back slowly. He balled his right hand into a fist at his side. 

 

_ No weapon, Barton.  _

 

Some habits were hard to break. He settled when they all appeared to relax. “You may go up, fifth floor. The commander is waiting for you.” Trowa’s shoulders relaxed as he swallowed. 

 

One of them saluted him briefly and Trowa eyed him intensely , “It is a privilege to see you again, sir.”  

 

Confused, Trowa stared at him until the faint image of a guard standing beside a cell door came to mind, the contents held the professors he briefly had the chance to converse with.  __ It had been such a long time since then--at least it felt like a lifetime away, despite it only being about 3 yrs.

 

“There’s no need for that though, please.” 

 

He offered him his hand as he slipped the card between the cup and his fingers on his left hand. It’s something Quatre had ingrained in him after the war, told him he would need to adjust to, despite being wary of everyone. The more normal they all appeared--the less likely they were flagged as risks, should anything go wrong. Thankfully it hadn’t and Trowa was good at pretending to give a damn. It made moving through society as a normal person easier where his social skills had been severely lacking. After all, the only friends he ever made were all killers until Catherine came along. 

 

The male shook his hand with enthusiasm, a smile on his face as his eyes lit up. Trowa gritted his teeth briefly before the overeager male let his hand go. He really didn't understand how Quatre could do that all day long and not lose his mind. It made him uncomfortable as hell to be touched by people he didn’t know or trust. People were complicated, people were dangerous. Trowa much preferred the company of animals-- they're not as threatening or complicated as humans. Animals, he understood. 

 

When he had reached the elevator and the door closed behind him, he shuddered and wiped his hand on his jeans till the uneasy feeling in his limbs faded. He hadn’t even reached Une’s office and he already began to question how she had ever talked him into this. No animals, and nothing so far that screamed ‘ _ let’s use your previous skill and off someone’ _ . In fact his whole job description now was to prevent such a thing. As Trowa leaned his head back against the wall where his back was, he snorted. 

 

_ Who would have thought you’d go from Mercenary to hired ‘Hero’. _

 

Hero. One word he definitely could say he hated to hear. People were so ridiculous in justifying the current situations and forgetting about the old ones.  The ding to signal his floor made him open his eyes. He stepped out onto a gray carpet, wide sparkling windows and a view around him that almost made him long for the tight rope back home.

 

“Right this way, please.” 

 

The voice was familiar and he watched the sway of her hips in a navy pencil skirt as her heels sunk into the rug they walked on. Her hair was blonde and wavy, curled past her shoulders. She stared at him with sapphire blue eyes before they scanned him up and down as he passed her through the doorway. He rolled his eyes.

 

_ Not gonna happen, sweetheart,  _ but smirked at her anyways as he turned to shut the door. She flushed pink and he shook his head.  _ Women. _

 

People were too easy to read, fluster and manipulate. It was hard to resist the urge to screw with them, after all, he had a lot of free time now, with the war over, and a soldier had to find new hobbies. Trowa had to get his kicks from somewhere, he was easily bored nowadays. Sometimes people were good for a different kind of adrenaline rush.

 

Catherine said his sass and bullshit were just a product of removing his ability to shower everything in bullets. She was wrong, though, part of him just really liked to screw with people--much like the cat who liked to toy with mice right before they got really quiet. He had a nickname back then, after all, for a reason. Most people would say it was cruel, and perhaps it was but it had always been there, running through his veins despite his mission. 

 

When he was no longer “The Silencer’ he had hidden within the Barton family for years, where everyone thought he was harmless, just the quiet one--a boy. Shy even, they used to whisper, lost--what fools they had been. No one had any idea what was really behind his eyes, and sometimes he wished he’d put a bullet in some of the Barton’s himself. Trowa set his bag down and flopped into the chair in front of Une’s desk. 

 

She hadn’t changed much, as he watched her talk on the phone to someone and took in her long locks of hair--the shift in her chair as her eyes peer over dark rimmed glasses. She’d aged slightly but he liked the lines that had started to show beside her eyes, they added character. He smiled at her and sipped at his coffee again, met her gaze and never wavered as hers almost changed shades. He smiled.

 

Then came the days like this, though, where he was glad he hadn’t taken out a Barton. Heavyarms had been a wonderful companion and Trowa Barton had been an unworthy pilot from the day it fell into the wrong hands. Without his metal friend, he never would have gotten to where he was now or met the people he did along the way. Never would have met the woman who changed him, crafted parts of him into perfect specimens.  She hung up the phone and Trowa was pretty sure the look she gave him was anything but business. He swallowed. 

 

_ Some things never change…Fuck me... _

 

“Barton,” her lip curled in the corner, her teeth chewed at her lip momentarily, “How was the flight?” 

 

He raised an eyebrow at her and narrowed his eyes shortly thereafter in warning, one that made her look amused.

 

“ _ Flights,”  _ he corrected coldly, “Whoever booked that should be shot.” 

 

Lady Une laughed softly as he reached up to stifle a yawn that appeared right on cue. His back protested being made to sit again and he straightened to try and ease it somewhat.

 

“I’ll be sure to pass that along to Wufie...”  She teased and twisted the pen between what looked like well pampered hands and manicured nails as Barton pressed his lips together in a thin, hard line. She softened from her position behind the desk and leaned back, “I’m sorry, though.It really wasn’t meant to be a headache. Please tell me you got all your luggage okay?”  

 

He nodded and wet his lips when the coffee cup appeared to be empty. 

 

_ Shame. _

 

He knocked the luggage into a heap on the floor with his foot and crossed his long legs as he bumped her heels beneath the desk. She tilted her head and Trowa smirked. Lady Une narrowed her eyes. The silence stretched out between them, heavy with memories between them, of what they both thought but wouldn’t say aloud. The silence always did feel louder than words when she tried to avoid saying what they both knew was on the tip of her tongue.

 

“You don’t really give a damn about how my flights were--not as much as you’re wanting to ask me whatever it is you're not saying. That being said, let’s save the song and dance and cut to the chase...” She snapped her gaze up from the papers where she’d been looking and curled her toes in her shoes. 

 

“You needed all five of us and I’m the last one you had to acquire.” Her deep dark eyes flashed in what most certainly was annoyance and Trowa almost chuckled. “Judging by the fact that you have rehired some of your old co-workers from the war downstairs and how ridiculous this all is right down to my fucking nickname…I’d say you're in some kind of trouble and that’s what the  _ very _ generous signing bonus incentive was for.” 

 

His emerald eyes swirled darkly, and Une swallowed when he leaned forward, “Just how much shit are we really in?” 

 

She fidgeted, a tell of hers, as she tucked her hair behind an ear. She smelled like jasmine from where he sat and he couldn’t help it as his fingers brushed against hers where the pen was pinned to the desk beneath them. 

 

“You’ve changed,” she says, voice deeper, like it had been as the Kernel. 

 

He narrowed his eyes, “Didn’t we all?” he asked, and she flinched, “You're avoiding the question...”

 

“Kind of a jerk---were you always so sassy?” 

 

He grinned, “Since when are you not cutthroat and straight to the point? Do I really have to ask again?” 

 

She frowned, her eyes unsure as she searched his. She pulled her hands into her lap, “We could use your skills in mechanics, operations for a new project and your computer skills. Hero says you're far more technical than we give you credit for.”  

 

He leaned back in his chair as she rose from hers and walked to the window. His eyes followed the line of her heel and up the back of her legs to where her skirt began and the long slender lines to the curve of her hips. 

 

“Are we still okay believing we’re in a time of peace or should I be worrying about the things mankind is too blind to believe cannot happen again?” She ran a hand through her hair and turned to face him. 

 

“You make it sound like everything we did was all for nothing,” Barton shrugged. Perhaps it was the mercenary in him, the soldier, but he won’t sugar coat how he feels about it. He could feel his stomach tighten. He was prey under those eyes and yet there’s something else inside of them--swirling around.

 

“It won’t last forever--next time it might not be a family--maybe a government or country that we know nothing about, before it’s too late--maybe a colony or maybe half the world or a Planet government once we get there--what’s to say the war is ever really over? Everyone has to stop and reload sometime, right?” 

 

Her face twisted into something like disgust for a moment but she quickly sighed, “That’s why we need you. To help us better ourselves, to help better the peace and hope that war never returns--or at least so we can say we did our damnedest to avoid it.” 

 

He nodded, only one eye visible from beneath his long hair as he turned to look out the window she was. The clouds were white like cotton, and the sky was so blue. He’d missed the Earth. He closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed because despite it all--he realized he’d missed her, too.

 

“What was the other reason?” 

 

His words echoed, it seemed this time, and she turned away. He breathed deeply and wondered about how they always got to this point, and for what felt like forever was a moment broken only by Une. She finally walked towards him and Trowa watched the jacket fall away from her broad shoulders as it slipped into a heap on the office floor. It’s graceful, like a large cat, eyes focused and hungry. He licked his lips as she stood above him, both of them staring into each other’s eyes. He noted the changes to her body, breasts accented by her outfit, body curved and stronger in appearance. She looked healthy, older, but somehow just as beautiful. 

 

“Does it really need saying, Trowa?” Her voice was soft, and the look in her eyes was sweeter and more tempting than any chocolate or cup of coffee ever could be. 

 

He reached up to grab her wrist, his thumb stroked it beneath the sleeve of her white dress shirt, Trowa pulled her into his lap. She was tall, his left hand followed up the length of her leg to the back of her skirt when she lay her forehead against his, her palm pressed in the spot above his heart. 

 

He supposed it didn’t, after all. He’d said enough already as he captured her lips roughly with his own. She tasted like vanilla lip gloss and smelled even more delicious up close. Her hands were warm when she slid them across his ribs inside his leather jacket, her nails scraped teasingly before she embraced him. She moaned when his hand found its way into her hair and pulled her closer against him.  

 

Lady shivered and shifted against his lap. Tears prickled in the corner of her eyes as his hand squeezed her ass and her chest burst like fireworks. The room was suddenly so warm as she peeled the jacket off of him and urged him to discard it. He obeyed as she roamed the cotton of his t-shirt with her hands and large shape of his biceps and arms. He was strong, powerful and she’d missed him more than her words could ever begin to describe. They break apart in a fury of heated kisses, lashing tongue and teeth, gasping for air when their lungs are bursting.

 

“I missed you--I thought I’d never see you come through that door.” 

 

He nuzzled against her cheek to cheek, her hair framing them, shadowing them. He placed his soft lips against her jawline, nose against her neck below her ear. Her fingernails scrape the back of his hair gently, her lips against his temple. He smelled better than he ever had, and she would breathe him in like oxygen if she could. 

 

“You could’ve just called and said that,” he whispered and the tone breaks her heart. 

 

His eyes are a shade she can’t help but describe as anything but sorry. She blinked away tears before she cupped his face in both hands and kissed him bruisingly. A moment she regretted, a moment he wished he could change, forgotten, as she pressed deeper against his lips. Trowa moaned lowly, the sound rattled his chest, his arms encircled her and held her against him, one hand twisted in her hair. He practically purred at her scent as he breathed it in.

 

“I’ll have to remember that for next time, then... _ Sir, _ ” she said softly and Trowa growled. Nothing else was needed as the wind was stolen from her chest when he threw her against the desk. He was stronger than before, fuller, wider and she couldn’t get enough of her body against his when his teeth sink into the flesh on her neck. His shirt landed over the computer screen when he found her breasts with his lips through her shirt. He gasped as he eyed her only for a moment and the shape of her lips--both of them breathing heavily. 

 

Green was definitely her favorite color, especially when they said they’re going to eat her alive--and Lady Cordelia was dying to feel his lips devour her. 

 

“Don’t scream...” 


End file.
